


Standing Tall

by Arsenic, arsenicarcher (Arsenic)



Series: 14 Valentines [14]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-01
Updated: 2011-02-01
Packaged: 2020-11-26 21:47:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20937251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arsenic/pseuds/Arsenic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arsenic/pseuds/arsenicarcher
Summary: Written for 14v 2011 theme body image.





	Standing Tall

Ro hit her full height of 5’10” at fourteen. This had been both improbable—given the fact that she’d been malnourished for the entirety of her childhood—and unfortunate.

Height was a Cardassian trait. The average Bajoran woman was 5’4”, or thereabouts. The average Cardassian woman was 5’11” or taller.

Ro had the skin and nose and shape of a Bajoran, but her body betrayed her with its whipcord uprightness. The other kids in the work camp took advantage of the fact that she laid claim to no mother, that her father was long dead, to taunt her about it. She must be a collaborator, she must want to be a Gul’s whore—better yet, maybe she wanted herself a Legate.

The worst part was, she knew her height had caught the eyes of the soldiers guarding the camp. No Guls, these, at most a few Dalins. Not that it would have mattered. She would never, ever let them touch her, not these _creatures_ who kept her in this filthy camp, hoarded food while she starved, and tortured her father to death in front of her, for information he didn’t even have.

She worked the mines, just like everyone over the age of twelve. She hacked and pounded and tried so very hard to grow muscle without sustenance. And when she came out, she ducked her head, slouched her shoulders and did not straighten up.

*

At sixteen, slouching wasn’t enough. The other Bajoran women could fit into places in the mines she could no longer manage, making her less useful than them. And the Cardassian soldiers who liked women they could use and throw aside without repercussions were noticing that she was just about the right size for them.

When she could, she sneaked instruments from the mine to help keep her safe. Hurting a Cardassian meant a beating, at the very least, but she wasn’t going to just submit. She became almost glad for the lack of food, the way it kept her sallow, the filth of the camp that made her less desirable.

Those things weren’t enough, and when the attacks came, she wasn’t surprised to find that the same body that made her noticeable wasn’t strong enough to defend itself.

*

Her height was a problem when she stowed-away on a ship off the planet. She didn’t even know where it was going. All she knew was that the crew wasn’t Cardassian, and they weren’t carrying prisoners. She tucked herself into a space in the cargo hold that was far too small for her and hoped both that the parts she couldn’t hide away wouldn’t be seen and that wherever they were going, they got there quickly enough that she didn’t starve to death.

They caught her, the hilts of her knees giving her away. She would not be taken back, though, and the captain was willing enough to take out her passage in trade.

She hated her body. She sure as hell didn’t mind giving it in exchange for a ticket away from hell.

*

The ship landed in San Francisco. Ro was surprised, to say the least, because undereducated she might have been, but she knew damn well that Starfleet had an embargo on Cardassian territories. She wasn’t going to tell anyone. Earth was as good a place to start over as any, maybe a little bit better.

She got a job hauling cargo on the docks, which was how she met Liselle, the Nebraska girl who was working the job to help get herself through Starfleet Academy. Liselle was nineteen, with a stocky build, freckles and a smile that even Ro couldn’t help responding to.

Liselle decided she and Ro were going to be friends the first day they met, and didn’t give up after that. She shared lunches with Ro, even when Ro couldn’t reciprocate—always—and told her stories about growing up in Nebraska that didn’t even seem real given how far they were from Ro’s experience. She also helped whenever it looked like Ro needed it, and didn’t hesitate to ask for help when she did.

One day, while they were sitting and eating lunch, Ro munching slowly on an apple, letting each taste of the fresh fruit wash over her tongue, down her throat, Liselle said, “I wish I had half your height.”

Ro blinked at her. Liselle sighed, “I know, I know, I’m supposed to love me for me, but just. Ugh, what I wouldn’t give to have your legs. The shit I could get away with wearing.”

Ro said, “Your legs are strong.”

Liselle handed her a carrot stick. “I suppose there is that.”

Ro took the offering. “Strength is-- Strong legs are good.”

“Your legs are pretty damn strong. _And_ they’re all long. Not fair.”

Ro was entirely used to life not being fair. She just wasn’t used to being on the positive side of the unfair equation. She thought about telling Liselle that long legs were overrated, but she wasn’t sure it was true in this time and this place. Maybe they weren’t.

She rubbed at her shoulders and rolled them a bit, trying to loosen them up, straighten out just a bit. Finally, she said, “Thanks, I-- Thanks.”


End file.
